


Wednesdays

by scribblemyname



Series: Comment Fic LiveJournal Stories [199]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Clint Barton Joins SHIELD, Clint Barton Made a Different Call, Community: comment_fic, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Phone Sex, Spies & Secret Agents, Spies and Assassins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/scribblemyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They went months without talking. When they did, it was always on a Wednesday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesdays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [classics_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=classics_lover).



> Prompt by classics_lover at the LJ Comment Fic community: [Author's choice, author's choice, _But know, in some way I’m there with you. / Up against the wall on a Wednesday afternoon._ (Florence + The Machine)](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/575829.html?thread=80621653#t80621653)

Wednesdays were their days off. Perks of freelance included choosing when and where, provided no one had kidnapped you on Tuesday.  
  
Wednesdays were the days he called her Natasha and she called him Clint and he discovered she had a soft, genuine laugh when he pulled some crazy stunt for her benefit or brought her casual flowers and let her push him against the wall before he turned the tables. Wednesdays, they fell asleep, sprawled together across the couch with leftover boxes of takeout and her favorite romance movies or his favorite procedurals still playing. Wednesdays, they pretended they were only Natasha and only Clint and forgot about the harsh world that had shaped them into other names and people…  
  
Because on Thursday, they went back to being Hawkeye and the Black Widow, the assassin and the spy, the archer and the femme fatale. They pulled jobs larger teams could never manage and most duos wouldn't even dream of. They made a name for themselves. Six days a week.  
  


* * *

  
  
"SHIELD doesn't keep a regular schedule for its assets," Phil Coulson answered, a faint undertone of regret in his voice.  
  
Clint grumbled under his breath but did not complain aloud. It figured that going straight came with some definite not perks, and why the h— couldn't Natasha have come with him? But she hadn't and Wednesdays weren't his days off anymore.  
  
Fine then.  
  


* * *

  
  
She was on their list of known threats, kill on sight. Clint brooded over the list for all of two days before Coulson asked whether the name Hawkeye hadn't been removed yet, then he simply shrugged and said he'd been looking for Trickshot, a bit of misdirection that would take Coulson months to discover all the attached Barton baggage.  
  
Clint didn't bother to warn her. The Black Widow had never been seen.  
  


* * *

  
  
He left after the hospital fire. It had been his fault, though she'd claimed it as hers. If he hadn't panicked and gone after her, she would have had time to deal with the accident instead of trying to save his life and hers. She would have died in Sao Paulo and that was enough reason for him to give up freelance and hired kills, enough reason to hate himself for saving her at that price and hate himself for being unrepentantly willing to pay it.  
  


* * *

  
  
He called her on Wednesday. There was no voice on the other end of the line, just soft breath he knew like his own.  
  
"Where are you?" he asked roughly, not meaning location but rather…  
  
A long pause, then softly, "Against a wall."  
  
Clint closed his eyes and leaned against clean drywall, wondering what material dug into her back. "Me too."  
  


* * *

  
  
She called his burner phone on Wednesday. "Your mark's lying."  
  
"Nice to hear from you too," he answered with a grin, not asking what she meant or how she'd gotten the number. He knew what she meant as they'd always known. "Where are you?"  
  
A sniff. "You?"  
  
"Staring through a scope. Want me to talk you through it?" Clint waited a beat as she decided.  
  
"You never were as good at multi-tasking as you thought you were," she said finally.  
  
"I'm wounded, really."  
  
Of course, he wasn't and she snorted in disbelief, prodding his answering grin. She let him, let him talk his way over familiar territory as her breath shortened and he imagined the feel of her skin under his hands, not even pausing when he took the shot.  
  
"I need a day off."  
  
She laughed, soft and genuine. "Want me to talk you through it?"  
  


* * *

  
  
They went months without talking. When they did, it was always on a Wednesday.  
  


* * *

  
  
She came on the radar. SHIELD gave him a kill order on the Black Widow. He put in a call to meet her in their favorite safehouse in Budapest.  
  
She brought a knife and nearly put it under his ribs. He pressed her against the wall and begged her quietly to come with him.  
  
"You're supposed to kill me," she reminded him bluntly, pressing his arrow between their skin.  
  
"I'm making a different call."  
  
Clint had always been stubborn that way.  
  
Natasha laughed and kissed him. "I want Wednesdays off."


End file.
